


since feeling is first

by troiing



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: ALL THE KISS PROMPTS, F/F, Gift Giving, Kissing in the Rain, Sleepy Kisses, Snowed In, Stargazing, Tumblr Memes, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-28 20:45:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 10,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13279560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troiing/pseuds/troiing
Summary: Kiss prompts from Tumblr (with a few prompt mashups thrown in). Mixed bag of Hackle and Hicsqueak but the ship, prompt, and ratings are in the chapter titles for your viewing pleasure.





	1. Hicsqueak: eyelid kisses (G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> requested by matildaswan

“ _Oh._ ”

It’s been a long time since Hecate has heard Pippa sound so crestfallen; how she manages to imbue one syllable with so much emotion is a marvel.

Pippa stops short, and Hecate draws carefully up behind her. The reason for her disappointment is obvious the moment Hecate casts her gaze towards the horizon.

“Oh,” she echoes, examining the cloud cover dotted with the final, fast-fading vestiges of a vivid sunset.

"Well, it’s beautiful, anyway,” Pippa says cheerfully. Still, her voice isn’t quite as bright, her tone not as warm as it had been ten minutes, an hour, a day ago, as they talked about making their way to the roof at dusk for the conjunction of Mercury and Saturn.

It’s unacceptable, really.

Hecate sidles closer, tucks her chin to murmur into Pippa’s ear: “There’s a spell for that.”

A peal of laughter rings out in response, brief and bell-like. (Hecate loves that laugh, wants to inundate herself in it, in Pippa’s irrepressible joy.) “That’s _miles_ away, Hecate, don’t be silly. We couldn’t brew the potion in time even if—”

“Not a weather spell.”

Pippa stops short, gives Hecate a questioning look in the rapidly-fading light. The horizon is all aglow with winter twilight, but the lights of the nearby city prove brighter.

“Here,” Hecate murmurs, circling around to face Pippa. She reaches up hesitantly, cups Pippa’s face in her hands, thumbs stroking softly against her cheekbones before settling. “Close your eyes.”

Pippa does as she’s told, eyes fluttering shut without hesitation. Hecate can already feel the magic coursing through her, tingling at her fingertips, when she leans forward.

“ _All that shines in sky of night,_ ” she murmurs, the beginnings of a spell learned in her youth, when the stars were one of her greatest treasures.

Pippa’s eyelashes flutter, tickling her lips.

"Pippa,” Hecate scolds gently.

“Sorry.” She almost manages to sound contrite. “Sorry.”

Hecate sighs, brushes a thumb across Pippa’s soft skin again. “ _All that shines in sky of night,_ ” she repeats, leaning in to place the softest of kisses against Pippa’s eyelid. “ _Unveil these eyes—_ ” and the other eye, inspiring a breathy sigh from Pippa “ _—awake thy sight._ ”

A moment of silence passes as Pippa blinks her eyes open again, glancing at Hecate for a moment with a small smile, then past her shoulder towards the horizon.

"The horizon isn’t too bright, is it?” Hecate asks. It’s not common for her to doubt her magic, but she worries. Pippa shakes her head absently, and Hecate muddles through an explanation. “I’ve never used that spell on another person. Do… do you like it?”

"Oh, Hiccup. I love it.”

Hecate bites down on a smile, but it curls at her lips anyway, small and shy. “Good. It's… special to me,” she admits quietly.

Pippa reaches for her hand, beaming as she takes a step forward, eyes scanning the darkened horizon, the stars too bright for this time of evening and the weather. “It’s an illusion spell.”

Hecate moves to her side, tangling their fingers together. “Of a sort. It just… tricks your eyes into seeing what’s already there. Into looking beyond the distractions. It’s an old spell; I believe it was used by wayfarers and sailors where weather was unfavorable.” Hecate too searches low above the horizon, naming stars and constellations in her mind a she searches for the two planets.

“Well I love it. Though I confess the planets are certainly easier to spot without the stars for distraction.” She says this as if embarrassed by her inability to pick through the night sky as readily as she once could.

Hecate has found them already. Loathe to break contact, she lifts their arms; Pippa ducks easily under them as Hecate moves behind her. Their hands rest against Pippa’s belly as Hecate lowers her chin to Pippa’s shoulder, cheek pressed tight against Pippa’s to give them the closest line of sight possible.

“Well, there’s Scorpio; and Mercury is always close to Sol. So… there,” she says, extending her free hand to point out the two planets, side-by-side in their sky, a steady glow amid the twinkling stars, pale pink and golden yellow.

A beat, and then: “Oh! How lovely!” As Hecate lowers her arm, Pippa catches her hand up with her free one, leans back into Hecate’s body even as she draws Hecate’s free arm around herself. “You are a wonder, my darling.”

Hecate sighs contentedly into Pippa’s hair, and watches the planets sink slowly below the horizon.


	2. Hicsqueak: collarbone kisses (G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by janetfraiser and queenology

It’s late when Hecate finally makes it to Pentangle’s, soaked to the bone by the miserable drizzle petering in and out along her journey. She’s in a foul mood on account of it, grumbles at the chill in her bones as she slips into the foyer, travel bag and broom in tow. She is confident enough by now to transfer directly into Pippa’s private rooms, so she does so as soon as she’s done with the drying spell, making an effort not to let her stormy mood follow her.

She doesn’t have to try very hard.

Pippa is curled on the settee, a smallish paper-bound book abandoned in her lap, cheek balanced precariously on the heel of her hand. The way she breathes, the quiet hum that greets Hecate at the noise of her heels sharp on the stone floor, tells her she is sleeping.

Hecate quiets her step, magics her belongings into appropriate places, and with a twist of her wrist changes from travel cloak, hat, and day clothes into a conservative sleep chemise—bared shoulders, covered knees. Her hair comes undone just as easily, but she takes her time in brushing it, allowing herself the indulgence of watching Pippa sleep, listening to her breathing, punctuated by the occasional snuffle or hum.

She is just making her way to Pippa’s side when the book slips off of her lap.

It’s not terribly heavy, makes little more than a muffled slapping sound against the rug beneath her, but it unsettles Pippa enough that she squeaks, startling awake with a confused look.

Hecate bends quickly, gathers up the book, watches through her lashes as Pippa blinks down at her in bewilderment. She pauses at the appraisal, flushing a little when Pippa’s bemused look suddenly transforms into a satisfied, somewhat dopey smile.

“Well met,” Hecate almost whispers, placing the book safely on the cushion at Pippa’s side.

“Well met, my darling,” Pippa replies, words slurred with sleep. “I was having the most wonderful daydream.” Her face screws up a little at that, then she breathes a laugh. “Dream.”

“Were you?”

“Mm.”

Hecate smiles a small, fond smile, and stands slowly; Pippa clasps her hand as she disentangles her own limbs, and when she plants both feet on the ground, Hecate braces her arm and helps Pippa to stand.

Pippa slips her arms around Hecate’s waist before she can even think of moving away, a hum of pleasure reverberating through her chest as she presses herself against Hecate’s body and kisses her collarbone. It’s easy to forget how much shorter than Hecate she is; the heels she wears bring her much closer to Hecate’s height. Standing barefoot, she nuzzles easily into Hecate’s bare shoulder, kisses her clavicle again.

“ _Mine,_ ” she mumbles into Hecate’s skin, peppering kisses inward.

As she reaches Hecate’s jugular notch Pippa nestles beneath Hecate’s chin with a quiet laugh. “My foot’s asleep,” she says, voice muffled against Hecate’s shoulder.

Hecate feels her own chuckle rising despite herself. She wraps her arms around Pippa’s shoulders, sliding her fingers into Pippa’s hair. “Poor thing,” she murmurs, ghosting a kiss against Pippa’s scalp.


	3. Hackle: kiss in the rain (G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by magnass (+unestablished relationship)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> or: the one with gay panic Hecate and 'it took you long enough' Ada

They’re in the conservatory when the rain starts. It’s not entirely unexpected, but Hecate had thought it might hold off another half-hour or so, at the least.

She glances up through the glass ceiling and grunts her discontent, only to receive Ada’s quiet hum of a laugh in response. “Something wrong, Hecate?”

Hecate stiffens at the question; Ada has been with her the whole time, but it still somehow catches her off-guard. “I was… looking forward to the walk back,” Hecate says slowly, haltingly, pointedly examining the plant in front of her rather than looking at Ada. She manages to adopt something closer to her usual cadence, simultaneously lilting and clipped, when she speaks again. “It is nice to stretch one’s legs outside of the castle, from time to time.” This isn’t untrue, but she fears that looking at the other witch will reveal the sentiment behind it. It is nice to stretch her legs outside of the castle, certainly, but she treasures her walks along the castle grounds at Ada’s side more than she cares to admit.

The truth is, Hecate wants to devour every possible moment with Ada Cackle. Ada, who had given her a posting at one of the finest witching schools there is, made Hecate her right hand, who trains up young witches with softness and light, but who had proven just last year that she wasn’t all fluff. A terrible two-year-long attempt at cooperation with Agatha as co-headmistress had ended rather abruptly with a short-lived duel. Agatha’s attack had been unannounced, a flagrant breach of the Code, but Ada had handled herself well; Agatha’s transformation into a snail, had not only been entirely warranted, but executed with what appeared to be incredible ease.

“She underestimates anyone who lacks aggression,” Ada had explained softly, giving Hecate’s arm a squeeze. “One must never underestimate kindness. Had she been wise, she might have invoked Section Seven; I rather think she wasn’t planning that far ahead.”

Hecate doesn’t like the thought of witnessing a well-planned Section Seven duel between the two witches, keeps it from her mind as much as possible.

“Who’s to say we can’t still walk back, Miss Hardbroom?” Ada asks, coming up alongside her.

Hecate’s nostrils flare with her surprise at the statement. She turns to meet Ada’s gaze, but Ada too is steadfastly examining a plant, giving Hecate a view of nothing but the shorter woman’s silver-streaked hair, grown down to her shoulders again and frizzed up to half-again its volume by the humidity. Hecate loves Ada’s hair, the heavy curls, the way it silvers as she ages…

She does not love the idea of walking back to the castle in the rain.

“You’re joking,” she says flatly.

“What makes you say that?”

“You don’t honestly expect—”

“Oh, Hecate, we have drying spells for a reason,” Ada says amicably, finally turning to face Hecate. Her eyes glimmer with challenge.

Hecate’s heart thunders in her ears at that look, but she refuses to bite. “No.”

Ada arches an eyebrow, frowns slightly, and then shrugs, reaches to pat Hecate gently on the arm. “Suit yourself,” she says in the same soft, amiable tone.

She withdraws, moves for the door. Hecate watches, waiting for the penny to drop.

Ada steps into the rain.

“ _Really,_ Ada,” Hecate calls, following her to the door.

Ada turns, smiles back, rain pattering against her head and shoulders. “I’ll see you inside,” she says, easy as you please. “My office for tea?”

If Ada thinks turning around and continuing her casual stroll through the rain is going to convince Hecate to follow her, she is _absolutely wrong._ Hecate is more than aware enough of these silly tactics, though she can sometimes be goaded by them, if only, only by Ada, because she can be as persuasive as she is soft.

She finds herself wondering, after transferring away from the greenhouse, if Ada turned around, found herself disappointed that Hecate did not follow.

But when Ada arrives at the doors of the school, Hecate is waiting with a warm, dry cardigan outstretched in her hands. A drying spell may be effective indeed at removing water from clothes and body, but it can’t quite negate the damp chill that seems to settle into bones after exposure, so she waits patiently, an eyebrow quirked as Ada approaches the already-opened door, raising a hand to block the pattering rain from obscuring her gaze. She’s soaked through: magenta cardigan hanging heavily against her body, hair plastered against her cheeks. Hecate can’t decide if the sight is ridiculous or pitiful.

Or captivating. (Absurd, she tells herself, but her rational mind does not own her emotions, cannot quell the attraction she feels to this wise and bright and carefree and _bone-soaked, outrageous_ woman.)

But Ada glances up the steps and into Hecate’s face, smiles broadly, fondly, and Hecate feels her heart stutter.

They stand there for a span, Ada evidently unperturbed by the pattering rain, Hecate poised in the doorway. It takes a long moment for Hecate to find her voice. “Well come inside, then,” she says, swallowing heavily against the lump she suddenly finds in her throat.

Ada gives her one of those looks, brows raised over the rim of her spectacles, and lifts the hem of her skirt to traverse the few steps up to the doorway. She pauses at the entry, blinking back at Hecate’s carefully-schooled, disapproving expression. “Oh, come, Hecate. It’s not so bad.”

“Yes, I have been in the rain before,” Hecate replies with a sniff, profering the cardigan.

Ada, however, has not so much as attempted a drying spell. “And have you considered that it is one of the simplest, purest ways to commune with the nature we so revere?” she asks in _that_ tone: mellow and gentle, a sweet sing-song, impossible to mount a proper argument against because when she uses it she is most assuredly _right._ “Come.”

' _I don’t want to_ ' would be enough for Ada, Hecate knows, but when Ada wraps her fingers ever so gently around Hecate’s wrists and tilts her head back toward the open door, ' _I don’t want to_ ' seems absurdly petty.

It doesn’t help that Hecate would go to the very ends of the earth for Ada.

Hecate manages a dramatic sigh. Rolls her eyes. Watches as Ada’s smile twitches on her lips (she knows Hecate too well). She succumbs without much hesitation, magics the cardigan away and lets Ada lead her by the wrist down the steps and into the weather.

It’s not a hard rain, really, but the drops fall heavy on her skin, sending a chill down her spine despite the otherwise mild weather. Ada hovers close, radiating far too much warmth. Hecate watches her for a moment, breathless. Closes her eyes, tries to find that communion, tries to inundate herself in the rainfall and the gusting wind and the warm summer air, but all she can think about is Ada’s soft blue eyes, the twist and curl of Ada’s lips into a knowing smile. She stands there, blows a drop of water off of the tip of her nose, hears Ada’s low chuckle in response.

Before she has even begun to think it through, she’s bent over, lips pressed firmly to Ada’s. For the briefest moment, all that exists is the cool softness of Ada’s mouth and that faintest buzz of her lips and the warm exhale through her nose when she hums in response to the touch.

And then she realises, with a surge of panic, that she is kissing Ada. Ada, _Miss Cackle_ , the Headmistress, her superior. She pulls back as if she’s been burned, stuttering out an apology, and lifts her hands—or tries to—all but ready to transfer immediately away.

But Ada still has her fingers wrapped gently around one of Hecate’s wrists, and Hecate glances down, wild-eyed, when her grip tightens. Just slightly. Just enough. Enough to keep Hecate rooted where she stands, staring, as Ada reaches forward to soothe her fingers against Hecate’s other arm. She releases then, still touching but not holding on anymore, but any thought Hecate had of fleeing is overruled by the softness of Ada’s touch, by the warmth of her nearness.

Hecate opens her mouth to speak, swallows. Tries again.

“Hecate,” Ada says softly.

“I’m sorry,” Hecate finds herself repeating. “I shouldn’t have—I don’t know—I’m so—”

“Hecate” Ada repeats almost sternly. Hecate finds herself silenced, searching Ada’s face as the other woman’s expression breaks into a fond smile. Hecate could swear there’s mischief behind her eyes. “It’s about time, really.”

“I—it’s—?”

Before she can finish the thought, she’s silenced by the insistent press of Ada’s mouth against her own, the heat of Ada’s palms cupping her face. She squeals in surprise, freezes for the barest moment. In the next, her hands fumble up to Ada’s neck and she bends into the kiss, into the urgent but chaste press of their lips. They move in tandem, shifting, and Hecate tastes rain on Ada’s wet skin, whimpers at the sensation of raindrops disturbed by the friction of their mouths, by the tickling trickle of water on lips.

When the kiss ends, Hecate’s breath is ragged. She parts her lips, tries counting breaths—in five, out five—eyes darting across Ada’s features, searching eyes and softly smiling mouth, her own hands at Ada’s neck. Ada’s thumbs brush her cheekbones, and she can feel everything, the burning heat of her own cheeks, the warmth of Ada’s hands, the chill of the rain. The sensations are foreign and strange, do nothing to quell the thundering of her heart.

“You’re shivering,” Ada says gently, voice just carrying over the rain and the blood pounding in Hecate’s ears. “Let’s get you inside.”

Hecate’s hands go searching, down Ada’s neck to rest atop her shoulders. She clings, nods, and they appear in Ada’s study, body and clothes dry, stood by the warm hearth. Ada guides her back and she takes a seat, eyes focused now on Ada’s lapel.

“How—how long?” she stammers roughly. How long has Ada felt for her, how long has Ada suspected that Hecate felt something? Had she, before? _About time_ rings through Hecate’s ears like a mantra.

“Long enough.”

“I—”

But Ada bends, presses a soft kiss to the crown of Hecate’s head, and a cup of tea appears in front of her—conjured, not good for any qualities of caffeine or herbs, but sufficient enough to warm from the inside.

“Drink,” Ada urges softly, and Hecate wants to sink into her, into the softness and warmth of her presence, to disappear in her lilting voice and her blue blue blue eyes and— “Then we’ll talk.”


	4. Hicsqueak: firm kisses (G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by fanchonmoreau

Hecate watches with something close to trepidation as Pippa delightedly rips simple brown paper away from the gift. “I just. I saw it, and—and I thought…” She trails off, watches as Pippa snags the inner layer of paper.

“Hiccup, really, you didn't— _oh._ ”

She cuts herself short, dropping the paper away and suddenly holding the first edition herbology text she has revealed with something close to reverence.

“Oh, Hecate, you… You really shouldn’t have. Why, it’s not even a special occasion, and I haven't—”

“You don’t… You don’t like it,” Hecate observes, completely missing Pippa’s meaning.

Pippa looks up at her, startled. “What? Whatever do you—?”

“It’s fine,” Hecate interrupts, fists balling, pointedly looking at everything but Pippa as a flush rises to her cheeks. “You don’t have to—”

Pippa shifts the tome to one hand, surges up into tiptoes, cups Hecate’s neck with her free hand, and seals her lips over Hecate’s in a firm and silencing, chaste kiss. She follows it with the delicate ghost of a kiss as she draws back, stroking a thumb against Hecate’s jaw as the other woman looks on in mild shock.

“Hiccup, I love it. It’s beautiful. And it’s so thoughtful. I’m only sorry I don’t have anything for you.”

Hecate swallows, examines Pippa carefully as she favors her lower lip. “I—you do like it,” she observes with a question in her tone, brows furrowed.“

“Yes, _yes_ you silly witch,” Pippa says in something close to a chuckle, thumb continuing its absent pattern against Hecate’s jaw. “I do _love_ it. And I love you,” she says, kissing Hecate again with the same firm certainty. “Thank you.”


	5. Hackle: jawline kisses (G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by an anon

The final hours of the last day of term find Ada and Hecate alone in Ada’s study. The school is quiet, by and large. A few teachers linger in the staff lounge, no doubt, but the students are all gone home, and a few of the staff have followed, though most will stay on for another day or two at least to ensure that their spaces and those of the students in their care are in order.

It’s not uncommon for Ada and Hecate to take tea together in the evenings, but the atmosphere of careful distance that frequently shadows them is diminished tonight. It will take a few days to become reacquainted with the idea of having the castle to themselves, with no students to tend to, but a small measure of tension has already gone out of Hecate’s posture.

The kettle wheezes, chirps once, twice, settles into a steady whistle. Hecate and Ada both stand, but Hecate is quicker.

“Sit. You’ve been in your feet all day,” she murmurs, a hand on Ada’s shoulder as she passes her to fetch the kettle. Hecate rarely does even the most mundane tasks without magic, but she makes a habit of keeping her hands busy when Ada is near.

“So have you,” Ada chastens even whilst obediently lowering herself into her seat again.

Hecate only makes a quiet, noncommittal noise in response, and pours streaming water over the waiting tea leaves.

They sit in silence, mostly; evenings during term are spent discussing school matters, and close to the beginning of term that chatter will resume.

Conversation about exams, about the term, can wait, however; there is more than enough time for that. They soak in the warmth of the fire and the taste of their tea—Ada’s heavily sweetened, Hecate’s black and bitter—and each other’s company, and when Ada has finished the stack of biscuits beside her Hecate rises again to remove the saucer from its precarious position on the arm of Ada’s chair.

Ada’s fingers curl around her arm before she manages the task and she starts, glancing down and into Ada’s softly-smiling eyes.

“My dearest Hecate, must you really keep yourself occupied even now?” Ada asks softly, a reminder that there are no students to fret over, that the distance of the school term is unnecessary. Hecate softens beneath her hand, and Ada’s smile brightens as she twists the fingers of her other hand, vanishing the saucer away. “Come here.”

Hecate lowers herself obediently to the arm of Ada’s chair, to the space only just moments ago occupied by Ada’s saucer and crumbs, and when Ada reaches up to cup her face gently in one hand, she leans unconsciously into the touch.

Ada tilts her chin, presses a soft kiss to Hecate’s jaw, eases a gentle, slow trail upwards along the long line of Hecate’s mandible as Hecate deflates, relaxes into the touch. “My darling,” Ada murmurs, lips reaching Hecate’s ear. “Will you stay with me tonight?”

Hecate shivers, nods. “Of course.”


	6. Hackle: kiss along hips (M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by ballion.
> 
> Ada's not very good at crosswords.

Hecate wakes to a quiet, thoughtful hum and the sound of a pen scratching against paper. She groans quietly, arching her body and receiving a satisfying series of cracks in response.

It's the middle of the winter break, she has spent ten nights at Ada's side utterly and blissfully uninterrupted, and she's as pleased as punch. So pleased, she can't keep the curl of a smile off her lips as her eyes flutter open to take in the sight of her wife in bed beside her.

She's reclined against a pile of pillows, spectacles perched on the end of her nose, bundled up in a relaxed pink jumper with a folded up newspaper page held against a book in one hand, a pen in the other. She spares a glance for Hecate, blue eyes warm and fond, a smile tugging at her mouth. She's been out of bed already, Hecate notes, judging by the steaming cup of tea on the side table. And yet, her hair is a disheveled mess of fluffy silver, reminiscent of days when thick brown locks framed her face in wild, untamed curls.

“Morning,” Hecate greets her, voice rough with disuse, blinking sleep from her eyes.

“Your timing is impeccable, darling,” Ada replies, smile broadening before she glances back at her paper. “ _Alias,_ ten letters. Starts with 'n’. _Nom de_ something? French; it's just on the tip of my tongue.”

Hecate laughs—little more than a low rumble of a chuckle, but a laugh nevertheless. “Plume,” she supplies. “Nom de plume.”

But she is distracted by an arc of white flesh beside her: Ada's jumper, caught up behind her back to reveal a small, pale swath of her middle over the band of her pyjama bottoms.

Hecate shifts closer, drapes an arm across Ada's thighs, and nuzzles past the fluffy pink material just as Ada replies: “What would I do without you?”

“Not solve your crosswords, evidently,” Hecate mumbles, pressing a kiss, then another, against Ada's hip. She spares the tiniest nip for the swell of flesh just above her ilium, lower lip grazing against a broad silver stretch mark.

Ada makes a thoughtful noise, then sniffs. “I seem to recall you pouting in your study for the better part of fourteen hours over one of the cryptic ones.”

Hecate snorts disdainfully at the recollection, but resumes the trail of kisses along Ada's iliac crest, loosing her hold on Ada to stroke her fingers up beneath the fabric of the jumper at her other side. “And I seem to recall you're not very good at those yourself,” she mutters dispassionately, much more interested in the heat of Ada's skin and the way she uncrosses her ankles, a muscle in her thigh twitching at Hecate's attentions.

“You're not wrong,” Ada concedes, arching a brow before filling in one of the _down_ clues.

There's silence between them for a brief span. Hecate watches in her periphery as Ada taps the tip of her pen against the paper; she teases another kiss against Ada's hip, looks up at her through her lashes.

“Who do you suppose could finish first?” she queries suddenly, her tone making it very clear that she isn't talking about crosswords. Well, at least not about both of them doing crosswords, at any rate.

Ada lets the book fall back, pins Hecate with an arch look, one eyebrow raised subtly, gaze heated behind her slightly off-kilter spectacles.

 _Deities_ , Hecate loves her.

“Are you suggesting a game, Hecate Hardbroom?” Ada asks slowly, enunciating each syllable in a rough imitation of Hecate's own lilting cadence.

Hecate catches her lower lip up between her teeth, favors it as she stubbornly holds back the grin tugging at her lips. “I was thinking more of a _challenge_ ,” she purrs. “But… semantics.”

“And what, exactly, is the reward for winning?”

“Mm… winner's choice,” Hecate growls, propping herself up on her elbow and hooking a finger under the elastic of Ada's trousers to follow the line of her hip that much lower.

“Sounds dangerous.”

“High risk, high reward,” Hecate confirms.

Ada is silent for just a moment; and then, in a voice steeped in good humour and _want_ she replies: “Lead on.”

*****

Ada puts up a good fight; in the end, she has one clue left. _One_. And the way she looks at Hecate after her breathing slows, it’s obviously a good one.

Hecate grins, letting her smile do the boasting for her as she props herself up on her elbows and dives into a kiss. Ada moans into it, but withdraws soon after, flapping her paper to draw Hecate’s attention back to it.

“ _Genus of plant which includes onions, known for its antimicrobial properties._ Six letters, starts with ‘a’, ends with ‘m’.”

Hecate _laughs_. Laughs and laughs, because no wonder Ada’s so annoyed: of course it’s a question right up Hecate’s alley, and of course Hecate never would have given her the answer. And she kisses Ada again, still laughing, pulls away moments later breathless with tears in her eyes.

“Allium.”

Ada swears, drops the pen and paper off to the side. “Rotten luck,” she growls, but she’s in nothing if not good humour. She may have lost their game, but she _has_ just had rather an extravagant orgasm. “Pick your prize then.”

“Mm.” Hecate leans into the warm softness of her, soaks it all in for a moment, then tilts her head against Ada’s with a crooked smirk. “Tell you after breakfast. Suffice to say, I don’t believe we’ll be leaving this bed very much today.”


	7. Hicsqueak: goofy kisses (M)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Hecate is ripped and Pippa digs it

It’s early, the sky outside Pippa’s window not quite full-bright, and the sound of Hecate’s breathing comes, slow and steady and controlled, from the floor beyond the end of the bed.

It’s their first extended stay together since their reunion, and Pippa spends long days and longer nights drinking Hecate in, reveling in her presence. It’s reminiscent of their teenage years, of a particular week at Pippa’s house, of weekends together at school; the difference is, Pippa knows what she wants now—they both do—and she’s not sure she’ll ever get her fill.

Hecate has built a number of walls around her heart over the years, guards so many things so very closely, and Pippa has watched them tumble down one by one. Knows they have many more to fell, that some may never come down completely.

Pippa has no qualms with giving Hecate her space in these matters: she likes to push boundaries, to rush things, can be aggressive in her nurture and impatient in love, but Hecate is worth so much. So much. Even still, some of the walls seem a little unnecessary.

As Pippa crawls quietly down to the foot of the bed, settling onto her stomach and resting her chin in an open palm, she knows one of those walls is coming down.

It’s been obvious from the start—from the first time Pippa undressed Hecate, slid her hands down her arms, along the planes of her back and stomach, dug her fingertips into firm thighs—that Hecate does more than stroll across school grounds for exercise, that her interest in physical fitness goes beyond making her students do pushups on the roof before intense potions reviews. Hecate is not lissome, nor is she the lanky, gangling girl of their youth (no, she still has her sharp edges, but she had grown into herself at last in her late teens): under her gowns, her long sleeves and high collars, she’s all lean muscle and sinew, tempered by the most delicate sort of softness.

Pippa knows— _has known_ —that Hecate exercises, and regularly. Only this—six days into a stay in Pentangle’s otherwise empty castle—is the first time Pippa has _seen_ any hint of her routine.

(To be fair, Pippa does love a good morning canoodling—and more—and does have a tendency to use Hecate as a pillow; she wonders, in part, if she’s finally getting a glimpse of this part of Hecate’s life only because Hecate is growing restless.)

She’s hovering over a yoga mat in what looks to Pippa like an absolutely torturous adaptation of a plank—limbs splayed out into an X shape, hands and feet planted at the corners of her mat. She’s trembling a little, and Pippa can just see her lips move as she counts down.

She waits for Hecate to finish, to walk her hands and feet carefully back in to a basic plank position before interrupting.

“There you are,” she teases fondly, letting more warmth than humour flavour her tone. “I was beginning to think you just manifested those muscles out of the ether.”

Hecate snorts, shakes her head just a little. (A good sign, Pippa decides, nibbling on her pinky finger.) She sounds just a little breathless when she replies: “Where, pray, would the enjoyment be in that?”

Although Hecate doesn’t sound particularly jovial, Pippa is wise enough to recognise this for the lighthearted quip it is. (A very, _very_ good sign.) She grins broadly, bouncing one foot on the bed, then the other. “Ah! So I’ve finally found what you do for fun these days!”

“I _do_ do things for the enjoyment of them, Pipsqueak,” Hecate mutters, voice slightly strained as she lowers herself to her elbows, rocking her hips to one side and then the other in an arcing motion.

“How many of them aren’t academic?” Pippa challenges.

Hecate pauses just a moment in her movements before continuing, seemingly unfazed. When she doesn’t answer, Pippa hums a response, nibbling her lip and listening to the sound of Hecate’s breathing as Hecate sinks down to her stomach to stretch—first arching up with her hands planted firmly on the ground, then sitting on her heels with her arms outstretched.

Just when Pippa thinks she’s done—just when she’s about to ask what Hecate wants for breakfast (as if the answer is ever anything more specific than ‘ _whatever you’re having_ ’)—Hecate shakes her arms out, leans forward, and moves into a plank position again.

_Oh._

As much as Pippa is enjoying the show, she’s feeling somewhat ignored—and she’s confident enough in Hecate’s comfort level, given the casual repartees and the way she continues on with her routine, to pester her a little. Hecate performs a single press-up, twists into a side-plank; Pippa rolls—waves her fingers and rematerialises on her back between Hecate’s arms just as Hecate settles both palms square on the floor again.

It’s worth it, if only for the long, wide-eyed look Hecate gives her, her body trembling slightly with effort, brow shining with sweat.

She hovers there in a momentary tableau, gazing unblinking down at Pippa before managing: “What are you doing, Pipsqueak?”

If her tone is a little hard, a little unwelcome, the use of Pippa’s nickname tempers it.

“Giving you an incentive not to fall,” Pippa replies, wiggling into a more comfortable position on Hecate’s mat. “This looks _exhausting_.”

“Pippa, I’m trying to—”

“Oh, don’t let me get in the way, darling.”

Pippa can see the shifting tension in Hecate’s body, knows that while she doesn’t actually move, that while she holds her pose without wavering, she is releasing some of the muscles previously engaged in the activity.

That she is, effectively, relaxing.

In a plank position.

_Oh_ , good heavens.

“I’m doing press-ups,” Hecate states pointedly.

“Are you?” Pippa affects nonchalance. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

If Hecate rolled her eyes any harder, Pippa thinks, she’d lose them in the back of her skull. And yet, a moment later, Hecate’s face and the heat of her body are ever so close.

Before Pippa can breathe, before she can catch her bearings, Hecate is shifting her weight, turning to the side again and raising her arm into the air.

It’s a magnificent view, really: the swell of her breasts, the long lines of her arms, the curve of her neck…

Pippa manages to collect herself after a bare few seconds, shifts her head on the mat as she hums approval. “Oh, excellent form,” she praises, allowing just the vaguest hint of suggestion to enter her tone.

She’s sure she’s not imagining the flush that rises to Hecate’s cheeks as she turns her face away, up towards the ceiling. Still, Hecate has composed herself by the time she settles above Pippa again.

This time when she bends her arms, Pippa tilts her chin and lands a quick, playful kiss on Hecate’s face. Lavishes more praises when Hecate changes positions (‘ _Nice stacking; look at those straight lines—perfect, really_ ’), manages two more kisses to her cheek and jaw in quick succession when she comes down again.

“I think I could do this every day,” she teases, letting her gaze travel again along the planes of Hecate’s body where she balances above her, trembling with effort, the hair at her neck damp and sticking.

Hecate scoffs quietly, speaks to the ceiling. “I think you should find someone else to pester.”

Pippa snorts in reply. “Look me in the eye and tell me you aren’t enjoying this.”

Hecate does look her in the eye—repositions and hovers above her and arches a brow thoughtfully—but she does not speak. Instead, she does one more press-up (Pippa laughs quietly, gives her another peck on the cheek, this time accompanying it with an exaggerated _mwah_ sound) before holding her plank for a few seconds. Then she carefully lowers herself to her elbows again, their bodies just barely brushing as she breathes, their faces so very close…

Honestly, Pippa’s not sure how much more of this she can handle.

Hecate, on the other hand, is doing a very good job of appearing utterly unfazed. Her body shifts slightly, rhythmically; Pippa’s eyes travel downward and she realises that Hecate is lifting one leg repeatedly at a steady, controlled pace. When she glances up again, Hecate is smirking ever so slightly.

Pippa wipes the smirk off her face with a kiss, hard and hungry and ever so wanting.

At first, Hecate leans into it, complaining wordlessly into Pippa’s mouth, gusting out a breath of air as Pippa closes her teeth over Hecate’s lower lip; then her balance falters as she pulls suddenly away, shifting her weight to seal her hand over Pippa’s mouth.

“I can’t count,” she growls with her nose still touching Pippa’s, eyes dark.

Pippa lets the curl of her lips against Hecate’s palm, the crinkle of her eyes suggesting a self-satisfied smirk, speak for themselves. Hecate is better than anyone she knows at compartmentalising, at hyperfocusing on one thing as an avoidance mechanism from another; Pippa will not feign modesty where her ability to distract her is concerned.

But Hecate schools her expression, stubbornly returns to her routine—counts down eight, nine, ten in time with her movements, switches sides and starts again at one.

There’s only one thing for it, really.

Pippa reaches up, pinches at the sensitive underside of Hecate’s arm. Hecate’s five becomes a yelp as she leans over and wrenches her arm protectively down towards her side, losing her balance in the process. Her weight falls unceremoniously against Pippa’s body.

“Pippa!”

Pippa only laughs, breathlessly and with abandon. Tugs Hecate’s hand away from her mouth and laughs harder at the flustered look Hecate gives her. Tilts her chin to kiss her face, and again and again and finally on the mouth, and that’s when she feels Hecate’s demeanor change again, with their lips pressed together and the smile wide against her lips.

“ _Enough_ ,” Hecate growls just as Pippa feels the more comfortable surface of her bed against her back.

Her arms are above her head, Hecate’s fingers closed around her wrists, and suddenly, there is no mistaking the hunger, the near-feral want in her eyes. Hecate straddles her, kisses her soundly; her fingers slip slowly from around Pippa’s wrists and down her arms, her breast heaving as she presses their foreheads together, leaning low over Pippa’s body.

Then, lips close to Pippa’s ear, she orders: “Don’t. Move.”

Pippa laughs, breathless and quiet. Tilts her face towards Hecate’s. Clenches her fingers above her head as their noses bump against each other. The breath stills in her lungs again at the darkness in Hecate’s eyes; she feels like she has to shake her voice free before replying, “Anything for you.”


	8. Hicsqueak: kiss as an apology + in public (G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kiss in public + as an apology + "turn around" for dialogue - prompt mashup from victorianlesbian and scifisiren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Hecate Hardbroom would absolutely fly a broom through a blizzard to get to her girlfriend's side

Hecate isn’t here.

She’s meant to be, of course—was supposed to be here hours ago. It’s their first time away together, and the afternoon was meant to be spent in a seminar followed by a mixer and, well, Pippa’s at the mixer and Hecate still isn’t here. She had tried to mirror her during a recess to no avail, and now she’s in a room with maybe fifty other witches drinking cocktails and the bloody woman _isn’t here._

Hecate has stood her up before, of course, but that was years ago, and the idea that she would do so now, when they’ve come so far is unthinkable—preposterous even.

She’s going to need another drink.

Evidently, she is searching the room more than she realises, because one of the witches she’s mingling with asks who she’s looking for; Pippa stumbles through an explanation of her date’s tardiness, uncharacteristically uncertain of the social situation, embarrassment darkening her cheeks.

“Mm, poor dear; I’m sure there’s a good explanation though,” murmurs one of the witches; “Dump her, sweetie,” remarks the other, with a raised brow and a glass of red wine against her lips.

Pippa laughs at that—a high and nervous, foreign sound in her own ears, and the first witch takes pity, sucking her teeth at the second.

“I heard there was a storm moving in; perhaps she was delayed?”

“You _heard_ from Maradie; her knees start creaking at the tiniest pressure cha—”

The first witch suddenly presses the back of a crooked finger absently to the lips of the second as if it’s a common occurrence in their relationship, and offers Pippa a sweet smile as her gaze drifts off over Pippa’s shoulder. “Turn around, dear.”

She does; spins, bewildered, and finds Hecate behind her looking caught out, hand raised to shoulder level, fingers curled. As if she was reaching to touch Pippa’s shoulder, and then thought better.

“Hecate!”

Hecate stands, hand hovering in the air, and manages a tentative half-smile.

“Pippa,” she murmurs, frozen in place. Pippa realises for the first time that Hecate is shivering, hands red from the cold. “There’s a proper blizzard blowing in from the west,” she continues. “I’m sorry, I—well, we may need to extend our stay; it…”

Pippa must be betraying more alarm than she means to, because Hecate trails off and flexes her fingers uncertainly. “I’m sorry,” she repeats, a pained expression crossing her face.

Pippa smiles softly, tries to look encouraging, and suddenly Hecate lowers her hand to Pippa’s shoulder and leans forward, lips ghosting briefly across Pippa’s cheek.

“I would have been here,” she murmurs. “I wanted to be.”

Pippa beams, bringing both hands up to squeeze Hecate’s arms gently. “I know,” she replies, because she never really doubted—never wanted to, anyway. She buffs her palms against Hecate’s arms before leaning in to kiss back, chastely on the cheek. “Come on; there’s some mulled wine; I think you could use some.” And, turning, Pippa offers a smile to the pair of witches still standing nearby, manages to make it apologetic. “Excuse us, would you? It appears my date has just braved a blizzard to get here.”

 _Fool woman,_ she wants to add, but keeps her lips sealed.

The second witch has a sly gleam in her eye when she drawls: “We’ll go clear Isabella and her entourage out of the seats by the fire.”


	9. Hicsqueak: kiss in the rain (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kiss in the rain + "don't you dare" - requested by matildaswan and an anon
> 
> _"You ever put your arms out and spin really, really fast? Well, that's what love's like. It makes your heart race. It turns the world upside down."_ \- Practical Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another prompt mashup, this one for five-sentence fics... so I combined them and made them ten?

“Don’t you dare!”

Pippa is making a beeline for the open, rain-soaked courtyard, Hecate’s hand grasped tightly in her own. At the command, Pippa releases Hecate’s hand; grins a challenge, and backs out into the rain with a squeal of delight.

“You’re mad,” Hecate insists, but Pippa only laughs–spins round and round in the pouring rain with her arms splayed out to the side.

“It’s just a bit of _rain_ , Hiccup,” Pippa taunts breathlessly, laughing again as she fixes her gaze on Hecate’s bemused expression for just a moment. “I think I’m about to lose my balance, by the way; are you going to catch me?”

“Pippa–” Hecate argues too late; Pippa draws her arms into her chest and goes spinning all the faster, grass slick beneath her toes.

Hecate appears out of the ether at her side to catch her up as she loses her balance, but Pippa’s momentum is too great, the earth beneath their feet too slippery, and they go tumbling to the ground together with a collective _‘Oof’_. Pippa takes the brunt of the fall, somehow manages to keep laughing when she does it.

And then she’s on top of a stunned Hecate, bodies pressed warm and wet and close, mouths hot and searching, and suddenly, quite suddenly, Hecate thinks she does not so much mind the dark skies above them or the wet grass below; she slides a hand up to Pippa’s neck instead, thumb teasing the edge of her jaw, slips the other arm around her, pulling her closer still, and parts her lips for Pippas insistent, searching tongue.


	10. Hackle: kiss in relief (G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "kiss in relief" requested by an anon

The portrait is a void, dark and unfeeling. There’s the knowledge and acceptance of another presence; there’s the view of Ada’s office, and the sounds that come from it, but the light never penetrates, and while the world outside is quiet, the space that isn’t space inside the portrait is silent as a tomb.

And then, the world outside of it: too much sensation, too fast. Cold air, hard stone floor. Fingers still wrapped tight around wrists. The rumble of the building as it settles around them.

For a moment, they breathe. Just breathe, on their knees in front of the portrait - now just Ada and Agatha again - eyes wide and fingers pressing, grounding.

When Ada’s fingers loosen their hold, Hecate follows suit. But Ada doesn’t pull away: reaches forward instead, holds Hecate’s elbows as she rises up on her knees and leans forward to press a sudden kiss to Hecate’s forehead - then another to the edge of her mouth as her hands rise to cup Hecate’s neck, breathless.

And Ada _laughs_ \- presses her forehead against Hecate’s and laughs - and for a moment Hecate stares breathlessly, gaze unfocused, into Ada’s eyes.

“ _Hecate,_ ” Ada breathes, and this spurs Hecate, too, to action.

She reaches upward, wraps her fingers around Ada’s wrists again. Tugs one hand away from her neck and presses a fierce kiss against the lines of her palm, heart hammering, eyes welling with tears.

Ada kneels, smiling and still, but cants her head to the side, gaze venturing off to the window. “Everyone’s outside, I think,” she says after a moment, voice barely above a whisper. She lifts her free hand, brushes a tear from Hecate’s eye with her thumb.

Hecate nods mutely, brings Ada’s hand down to her chest and holds it there for a moment. “Then we should be there as well,” she says, voice sticky with emotion. “We may be needed.”

Ada’s lips purse into a too-warm smile as she slides her hand down to grasp Hecate’s again. “You’re right. As you often are.”

Hecate manages a gust of laughter at that; Ada’s smile broadens as she squeezes Hecate’s hand and moves to stand. “Let’s go.”


	11. Hicsqueak: eyelid/nose/jaw kisses (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turned a few prompts into a small series.
> 
> allegro-and-old-lace and queenology requested hicsqueak + eyelid kisses; an anon asked for nose kisses, and another anon asked for jawline kisses
> 
> Caught in a snowstorm shenanigans for all your fluffy winter needs.

Pippa isn’t daft, and while she might be absent-minded at times, she isn’t completely unobservant either; she knows Hecate has been keeping the fire going with magic.

There’s wood, of course, but a finite amount of it, and by the looks of it the blizzard isn’t letting up soon. A weather spell is all well and good, but it would take a coven of witches to calm this storm long enough to safely escape the tiny rented cabin they've tucked themselves away in for the duration of the mid-year break.

Hecate hasn’t said anything, of course, but Pippa can see that the wood pile hasn’t diminished, that the same wood in the fire is still merrily alight. And she can see that Hecate’s energy is flagging, her shoulders slumped and her teacup abandoned - but not before Pippa noticed her hands beginning to tremble. She’s been awake for hours, and all of it is taking its toll.

“Come here,” Pippa calls softly from her position on the sofa, curled comfortably under a blanket. She's moved the sofa closer to the fire than usual, close enough to soak up the ambient heat in the chilly room.

Hecate’s shoulders straighten a little, and she pauses her pacing to glance at Pippa, thumb massaging the palm of her other hand nervously. Pippa has tried to get her to sleep, and she hasn’t been willing. But this time she must. The wards will hold without her. The fire will burn without her. And the storm will pass without her interference.

“Hecate, come sit with me,” Pippa repeats, shifting the blanket in invitation.

“Pippa…”

“You need to rest, Hiccup.”

“I’m fine.”

“You won’t be for much longer if you keep this up.”

“Until then - ”

“No,” Pippa says, so firmly Hecate’s teeth click together. “We aren’t getting to that point.”

Hecate shifts for a moment, deflating. Toys with the watch around her neck. And after a span of silence between them, pleads very quietly, almost inaudible over the storm and the fire: “ _Pippa_.”

Pippa sighs, softening. “Come on,” she murmurs, tilting her head to gesture Hecate around the sofa to sit with her again. “The wards are fine, and I can keep the fire going.”

For a moment, Hecate looks caught out, but she moves towards Pippa after a few seconds’ hesitation. Pippa shifts, lifting the blanket off of herself. Stretches one leg out along the sofa and rests her other foot on the floor. Hecate hesitates, then perches nearby on the cushion with a couple of long, slow breaths to settle herself. Pippa doesn’t press, doesn’t even invite - just waits quietly while Hecate breathes, flexing her fingers, the rigidity of her fading just a little, just enough.

She shifts a bit, then, and leans towards Pippa to lie against her body with a sigh, settling her cheek against Pippa’s chest, legs curled onto the sofa. Pippa rests her foot behind Hecate’s bent knees and reaches around her to toss the blanket over their feet, then to snatch another from nearby to stretch it haphazardly around their bodies, shrugging the material over her shoulder to seal in the warmth.

“There,” she murmurs, satisfied. Hecate makes a small noise that Pippa can feel in her own chest.

“Pippa.”

Hecate tilts chin head upward, fingers clenching absently against Pippa’s side, lips parted to speak, but Pippa squeezes her shoulder and sneaks a hand up to stroke her cheek.

“I’ve got you, Hiccup.”

Hecate’s quiet for a moment before exhaling again, long and slow, eyes fluttering shut. “I know.”

Pippa makes a sound of approval, and brushes a thumb gently against Hecate’s eyelashes. Tucks her chin, presses a soft kiss to Hecate’s eyelid even as her fingers shift to push a few strands of dark, loose curls back behind her ear. “Get some sleep.”

* * *

Hecate stirs.

It's too soon; Pippa strokes her back gently, hoping to soothe her back to sleep, but after a few moments, Hecate groans against her and shifts, trying to find her bearings. She’s still curled up against Pippa’s body, between her legs, with her cheek nestled in the crook of Pippa’s neck - still wrapped up in Pippa, covered by blankets, warmed by the fire.

The flames still crackle merrily. The wards are still stable. Weaker, in the storm’s barrage, but stable.

“What time is it?” Hecate croaks groggily. The cushions beneath Pippa shift as Hecate tries to lever herself upright.

“Three o’clock,” Pippa says after a quick glance at the clock, unwinding her arms from around Hecate’s body and reaching instead to tickle the tip of Hecate’s nose. “On the nose. Witching Hour,” she adds with a smirk. “How do you feel?”

Hecate seems to be making a catalogue of joint and limb for a moment as she finishes disentangling herself from Pippa’s person. “Better,” she replies at length. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Your magic - ?”

“Quite recovered,” Hecate says, not unkindly. When she raises her eyes to Pippa’s, there’s a momentary look of realisation before the barest sliver of a smile curls at the edge of her mouth. “Full moon.”

“Naughty talk,” Pippa teases, but her eyes flash to the window as the realisation sinks in for her too.

“Hush,” Hecate grumbles, slapping half-heartedly at Pippa.

But Pippa comes back to the present just in time to catch her hand out of the air, twine their fingers together, and arch a brow. “Let’s refresh those wards, shall we?" she asks. Because their magic is strongest now. Because, now she thinks on it, she can feel it, can feel her magic welling within her, tingling at her fingertips. Together... "So you can stop wearing a trench in the floor?”

“I don’t pace that much.” Although Hecate’s tone is clipped, she shifts in her seat, offering Pippa her free hand.

Pippa takes it, curls her fingers with Hecates. “Yes you do.”

But the magic is already flowing out of her, and rather than replying, Hecate closes her eyes.

Within moments, the wards are set in place - stronger than before, strong enough to withstand weeks and weeks of this. Before Hecate quite blinks her eyes open again, a rush of Pippa’s magic floods the room, sending a wave of warmth through the entirety of the cabin.

Hecate shivers at the feel of it, meeting Pippa’s eyes with her fingers closed tightly around Pippa’s, and Pippa grins and tilts her forehead against Hecate’s.

“There. Less fretting,” Pippa says, brushing their nose together, “more cuddling.” Lifting her chin, she gives Hecate’s nose a quick kiss.

Hecate very nearly laughs; the fond smile tugs temptingly at her lips and lights her eyes.

Pippa bounces to her feet, grinning right back, a little drained, but satisfied; she’ll be more than recovered by morning. “We’re well stocked, and nobody’s freezing. I’ll make us some chamomile, and maybe we can both get some proper rest.”

* * *

The wind is a distant hum outside of the cabin, beyond the wards which keep the storm at bay. Pippa wakes, still nestled into Hecate’s side, beneath her chin - hears Hecate groan a complaint as she too stirs awake.

Pippa hums a response, arching away and tilting her chin to press a soft kiss to Hecate’s jaw, then another when the first one elicits another brief, nonsense sound.

“Morning,” Pippa mumbles, tucking her chin and snuggling closer to Hecate again.

Hecate shifts: touches Pippa’s arm with the fingertips of one hand; raises the other to her face to scrub at her eyes. “Mm… s’warm,” she slurs, brushing an errant strand of dark hair out of her face.

Pippa shifts again too, this time levering herself up on an elbow to glance down at Hecate, who furrows her brows, barely half-awake.

It is warm. Cosy, Pippa would call it. The tingle of her magic lingers in the air, keeping the ambient temperature of the room stable despite the chill outside.

“Too warm?” she asks.

Maneuvering again, flexing her fingers a few times where Pippa was using her arm as a pillow, Hecate scrubs her face. Pippa resists the urge to chuckle, but smiles fondly nevertheless. Hecate considers the question for a moment, then shakes her head. “No,” she replies at last, lips sleep-dry and sticky, turning the word into two syllables.

Pippa always wants to kiss Hecate like this. Well, she always wants to kiss Hecate, but there’s something lovely and _ordinary_ about Hecate in the morning. A reminder that under all that rigidity, under dark lips and sharply-winged eyeliner and the intricate bun she’s worn since she was fourteen, she’s just Hecate. _Pippa’s_ Hecate. Pippa’s Hecate, who took so very long to become comfortable with any of this.

Who tugs at the collar of her nightclothes and mutters, voice still thick with sleep, “It must be early.”

Pippa chuckles. “I don’t think it is.”

Hecate groans. Manages to pin Pippa with a split-second glare before collapsing onto her back again, removing the too-warm nightclothes with a flick of her fingers as she rolls towards Pippa to change their positions, scooting down the bed and tucking herself beneath Pippa’s chin with a muttered “ _Hush_.”

Pippa shifts automatically, laughing softly as she wraps her arms around Hecate’s shoulders; nuzzling into Hecate’s hair, she lets herself doze off again as Hecate slumbers.


	12. Hicsqueak: in a rush of adrenaline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> victorianlesbian asked for Hicsqueak + kiss in a rush of adrenaline.
> 
> Essentially takes place as if Pippa and Hecate made up at the end of chapter 2 of "she promised all the sweetest gifts" rather than Pippa storming out of the room. They're 17 and they're smoochin' but nothing else. Hecate's still getting used to the idea of them being _girlfriends_ asdkfdlgjsd

Hecate very nearly begs to be included in the Leavers’ broomstick display. Would have done, if a knock hadn’t sounded on the Headmistress’ door just as she’d begun to summon the will to do it.

She clenches her knuckles, steels herself as the Headmistress calls an only slightly exasperated ’ _come in_ ’, and pointedly avoids looking at the door. At least until she hears a familiar voice.

“Oh,” Pippa says, and Hecate turns to see her best friend - no, no, she reminds herself, her _girlfriend_ \- eyeing the gathering curiously. Miss Swift is here too, arches her brows at Pippa as the girl glances up at Hecate and gives her an uncertain smile. “Sorry, Miss Hawthorne. Miss Swift. I didn’t realize…” But she trails off, and it’s obvious the words are mere formality anyway. “I’ve been looking for you. You just ran off,” she says to Hecate, a little perturbed.

Hecate shrinks a little with guilt. She should have been better than that, should have said something, owes it to Pippa. Fleeing the dining hall the moment Miss Thornbody asked Pippa if she’d be interested in performing a solo broomstick display for the Leavers’ celebrations probably wasn’t her best decision. She feels she owes this to Pippa too, though, and anguishes that she might never get the chance now.

“Have you considered the broomstick display, Pippa?” Miss Swift asks, and Hecate’s heart drops.

“Yes.” Pippa’s palms are flat against her thighs, Hecate realises. Nervous?

“And?”

“I won’t do it,” she says; if Hecate’s heart could drop further, it would. Pippa loves flying, loves being in and leading displays. Has she ruined this for her? “I don’t want to do a solo display, Miss,” Pippa forges on after a moment, licking her lips. “I want to do a doubles display. With Hecate, not with anybody else.”

Hecate stands, shell-shocked, and Pippa presses her lips into a tentative smile, edging closer.

“I - ?”

“Sorry,” Pippa almost whispers. “I did want to ask you, but I couldn’t find you. Please don’t feel like you have to say yes.”

“Yes.”

“No, no, Hecate, you can think about it, I don’t want - ” Pippa stops suddenly, blinks up at Hecate, then over at the teachers with dawning realisation. “Oh,” she says quietly. “That’s why you’re here.”

Hecate favours her lower lip, and her silence is enough for the edge of a smile to appear on Pippa’s lips.

“Are you sure? You really don’t have to,” she says, but her expression tells Hecate that if she were to back out now, Pippa would be devastated. Would take it with grace and acceptance, certainly, but…

“That request has not yet been approved by staff,” the Headmistress reminds them quietly, bringing Pippa - who now has her fingers twined with Hecate’s - back to earth. “After last year’s debacle - ”

“It won’t happen again, Miss,” Hecate interrupts, an edge of emotion clouding her voice. “Please; I want to.”

Miss Swift sighs, gives the Miss Hawthorne a sideways look. “They _are_ our two best fliers. And the display last year would have been magnificent, if Hecate had followed through.”

“I will,” Hecate says firmly, shoulders squared even more than usual, and Pippa’s fingers twine just a little tighter with hers.

At length, the Headmistress gives Hecate a pointed look and says: “Fine.” Then, to both of them - a little softer, a little warmer: “Make it remarkable.”

That’s how Hecate finds herself on her broomstick, flyaway strands of hair yanked free from her bun, tearing out of a dive so steep, so intricately interwoven with Pippa’s trajectory, it still takes her breath away even after hours and hours and hours of practice, to the sound of a roar of applause.

She eyes Pippa as she always does - to make sure they’re still in sync and to be sure she’s okay, and they weave easily behind and ahead of each other in comparatively-placid figure-eights before coming to rest in the middle of the field.

Hecate’s heart is still thundering, blood rushing through her veins as she dismounts her broom gracefully, timing her movements to match Pippa’s beside her.

She’s just managed the customary broomstick salute when Pippa lets out a great whoop from beside her, laughter on the tail of the celebratory noise.

“Hiccup, that was perfect!” she cries.

Hecate barely sees Pippa drop her broom - certainly doesn’t have time to prepare herself, because quite suddenly everything happens at once. Pippa flies into her arms, clinging to her shoulders, and nearly drags Hecate to the ground as her feet fly into the air. Hecate just manages to catch her up, dropping her own broom to the ground as their mouths collide and her arms encircle Pippa, holding her fast.

She spins in a half-circle to regain her footing, and then in another full one because it feels right and why shouldn’t she? Pippa laughs, kicking her feet through the air as she withdraws from the crooked, bruising kiss only to press her mouth more squarely against Hecate’s again - firm but not crushing, close-lipped but thrilling.

And maybe it’s the display, the adrenaline of that dive, but Hecate doesn’t care who sees or what they think. She doesn’t care that there are classmates and teachers and even parents to see, doesn’t care about anything at all. Just Pippa, and her rushing blood, and the grounding weight of her _girlfriend_ in her arms as the summer breeze - no longer a thing to calculate and consider as they time dives and turns and lifts, just another part of the scenery - gusts around them.


End file.
